Mikey's Clothes
by SideshowStarlet
Summary: Silly one-shot featuring Titus and Mikey before their first date. Begins in 204 when Titus is helping Mikey put together a first-date outfit. Solves the pressing problem of there being no Titus/Mikey fics and explores what the heck happened to Titus's clothes between episode 202 (when Mikey rescued them from the dumpster) and 204 (when he didn't have anything fabulous to wear).


**Just a silly one-shot featuring Titus and Mikey before their first date. Begins in season 2, episode 4 when Titus is helping Mikey put together a first-date outfit. Solves the pressing problem of there being no Titus/Mikey fics available and explores what the heck happened to Titus's clothes between episode 202 (when Mikey rescued them from the dumpster) and 204 (when he didn't have anything fabulous to wear to his date with Titus).**

"Hey! Will you help me pick out an outfit?" Mikey asked, striding over to a lumpy grey men's gym... sack... thing.

"First of all, outfits normally pick you," I said, gliding behind him towards the shapeless, colorless monstrosity in the living room. I reached into the bag's gaping maw and felt my well-manicured hand engulfed in 100% cotton from all sides. I pulled out a shirt at random- a black, white, and grey-checked abomination. It was the _exact_ pattern as the purple-and-white checkered shirt Mikey was wearing. What hetero nonsense is this? I thought I was helping a baby gay boy pick out an outfit, not help a frat boy decide what color checkerboard to wear to poker night. "Basic." I pronounced. I turned back to the world's ugliest murse, and, with that sense of horrified fascination that attracted Stacy London and Clinton Kelly to unstylish people for ten seasons of What Not to Wear (May it rest in peace.), stuck my hand into the bag again and pulled out a pair of old, faded blue jeans. This boy and Kim Meme have the same sense of style- pre-bunker. Girl, these pants are ancient! When I shook out that shapeless pile of denim, a dust cloud formed. No, wait. That dust cloud was already there from before. Homeboy ain't no housekeeper! "Basic," I repeated, as if it needed to be said. Then came the final nail in the coffin.

I reached into the bag, and, at random, pulled out the worst thing you can find in a man's closet. It was a New York Patriots shirt. "Baaahhh-sic," I moaned, thinking about what kind of horrible person could own something like this. I knew Mikey wasn't my usual type of twink, but I thought he had standards! He did dig through the dumpster and take all my clothes back in episode 203 of my life.

Hey, wait a minute! I know for a _fact_ that Mikey had better clothes than this. "Meatball, what happened to all those clothes you took from me?" I asked the Italian man, interrupting his protest that the Patriots were _totally gay_. I shuddered to think of those fine fabrics all going to waste, left in the closet, ignored. No, surely not! Maybe the boy had enough sense to protect my slightly-used esembles from the sweaty interior of his fugly gym bag. Perhaps there was hope for him after all.

Mickey's eyes glazed over like Kimmy's did before she became lost in a flashback. I had long since mastered the art of coming along for the ride. After all, having to wait around for someone to finish their flashback and then provide a summary of said flashback was taking too much attention away from Titus. Off we go into the past!

Mikey's flashback took me to the previous evening, with Mikey hard at work doing some sort of construction thing with a loud machine. Another construction fellow stood nearby, digging a hole, or possibly filling one in. Or, perhaps he was hammering. I guess we'll never know. I stood between the two of them, invisible, like Scrooge visiting his crappy childhood with the Ghost of Christmas Past. "Now at this point, it's important to remember that Marley is dead! Otherwise, his visit wouldn't be as scary!" shouted the construction-bro who was not Mikey over the roar of some sort of machinery. "Also, I get aroused by lighting stuff on fire!"

"I'm real nervous about meeting Titus tomorrow night!" Mikey was shouting over the deafening roar of men at work, unheard by anyone other than himself and me. "I've never been out with a guy before! Which one of us is supposed to act like a chick? Or do we take turns? I hope he doesn't discover my secret love for The Lion King! He wouldn't understand! He'll just think it's a kid's show!"

As the men worked (and monologued), a few scraps of fabric flew from the backless back of Mikey's pickup. My clothes! I ran- well, jogged- well, walked as briskly as I could to pick up my clothes where they landed _quite_ a few feet away from me, thank you very much. My physical exertion was in vain, as, when I bent down, my hand went _right through_ my clothing. Of course! This was Mikey's memory. I was just a ghost. I couldn't change anything. Stupid flashback humor!

After an indeterminable amount of time, the men wrapped up their construction business, silenced their soliloquies, and started heading home. Mikey got in his truck and drove off, not even noticing the scraps of clothing he had left behind. Me-ghost quickly hopped into the back, while wishing my etheral self could fly. As Mikey drove away, unaware of his invisible passenger, I saw the man who had been working next to Mikey bend down and pick up the clothes that had fallen from Mikey's truck. Without hesitation, the man threw them into a nearby garbage can and lit the contents on fire. I gave a piercing, yet unheard, scream of horror as the man watched the conflagaration with a manic glint in his eyes.

I soothed himself by recalling that, inside the metal thingy in Mikey's truck, there were more of my old clothes. Why couldn't that baby homo wear those? Even the Mickey Mouse gloves would be better than Mikey's current _basic_ wardrobe. Hah, Mikey Mouse. Walt Kimsney would really get a kick out of that. But this is _my_ show, not hers!

Before long, Mikey arrived at his house, grabbed the armful of clothes from the secret metal compartment in his pickup, and hurried inside. I followed him in and watched as Meatball carefully put the clothes away in his closet, then settled down on his couch to watch baseball. Of course! Watching sports must have dulled the poor boy's brain to the point where he simply couldn't remember he had other, better things he could be wearing. That settled it! I simply could not take on this much baggage! I was ready to leave this flashback and forget all about the hopeless boy, but, try as I might, I could not return to the present.

My thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock on Mikey's door. "Hey, Mikey, open up! It's Dom!"

"Dad?" Mikey asked, confused.

"No, man, your brother, Dominic Jr.," said the voice. "Lance is here too!"

"What brings you guys over?" Mikey asked, opening the door to reveal two handsome, obviously gay men. Why couldn't Mikey get fashion advice from them?

"We were at the gym, then had a bunch of drinks," Dom replied.

"Now we're drunk off our asses!" shouted the man who must have been Lance.

"Normal straight guy stuff," Dom concluded. "So, can we crash at your place tonight?"

"Sure," said Mikey, stepping back to let the two men inside.

The three men sat on the couch and gave me the most torturous few hours I had ever had as they gazed brainlessly at the ball game on television. Finally, the world's most boring _non_ -versation broke up as the three men got up to go to bed. Mikey generously gave Lance and Dom Jr. his bed for the night, while Mikey himself curled up on the couch in his sleeping bag. Lion King, I noticed. Disney movie, not Broadway design, but still, good to know Mikey wasn't entirely without good taste.

Still, what did all this have to do with my old clothes?

Mikey slept peacefully, nestled in his Lion King sleeping bag as strange thumps and moans sounded from the bedroom. I, unfortunately could not join in, sleep, or even eat while this flashback sequence played out. I couldn't even turn on Mikey's big-screen TV. All I could do was wander noiselessly around Mikey's sparsely decorated apartment. There wasn't much to look at... other then Mikey himself. The boy had long sandy-colored eyelashes and pink lips that seemed to move around a lot in his sleep. Wait a minute, was the boy kissing in his sleep? I shook my head. If I was staring at Mikey's lips, I was really hard-up for entertainment.

After an eternity, sunlight filled the room as morning dawned over New York, obliterating the most boring night of my life. Mikey yawned and stretched, then got up to cook breakfast, while Dom Jr. and Lance took a shower... possibly together, but that's no business of mine. I didn't take advantage of my ghostly powers to sneak a peek!

As Mikey finished preparing the eggs and bacon, Lance and Dom came into the kitchen, each wearing one of my fabulous outfits. "Hey, bro, I hope you don't mind us wearing these outfits. We needed something clean, and I've never seen you wear either of these before."

"Uh, yeah, sure," said Mikey, faking nonchalance. "So... how 'bout those Mets?"

Boring sports talk carried them through the meal, none of which my ghostly self could eat. This is torture! But then, something grabbed my attention. It was Lance talking about my clothes. "So, man, we noticed you have a lot of clothes in your closet we never see you wear. Is it okay for us to borrow some?"

"Um... why?" Mikey asked, unable to fathom why his super-straight brother and his macho roommate would be interested in some gay man's hand-me-down clothing.

"Oh, to... um... donate to the strip club," Dom Jr. lied quickly. "'Cause the strippers would look so hot in those outfits!"

"How is that even a thing?" Mikey wondered. "Do people really donate clothes to strip clubs?"

"Of course!" said Dom Jr. "Sexy costumes aren't cheap, you know. And they're always ripping them off, so dudes like me can touch their boobs."

"Makes sense," said Mikey. He couldn't think of an excuse _not_ to give away the clothes without coming out to his brother and his brother's roommate. They're so macho, they couldn't possibly understand. "Yeah, sure, whatever," he said, as I screamed in frustration, completely unheard by the three men.

At long last, I was transported back to the present. I looked the meatball boy over and gave a woebegone sigh. Was that whole flashback really necessary? How hard was it to say, "My coworker burned some because fire is his Viagra, and my closeted gay brother has the rest."? Use your words, Mikey!

Still, the poor thing had as many wardrobe choices now as he did back when he told Kimmy-Kim-Kim that he wanted to be her jeans. A Titus always helps a man in need, unless doing so would involve physical labor.

"You need my Ex-Box," I said, introducing Mikey to the remnants of his much more sophisticated predecessors.


End file.
